In the intervening days leading up to the rendezvous, the boys became consumed with devising scenarios to explain the enigmatic warning.
Each hypothesis proved more improbable than the last, the remainder consisting of the usual conjecture from teenage boys who have had little to no engagement with the female gender.
Who could have predicted that a secluded, lonely post, coupled with a job that was both perilous and somehow prosaic, would fail to attract females of notable charm?
It was the day of the meeting, and I stood rigid within the Captain's office.
Captain Roche was in his fifties, well-built but not overly muscular, tall but not a goliath. He possessed hair, yet somehow… he did not. Now, he was preoccupied, using his wand to spell-cast messages to the distant patrols.
"So, you are requesting leave?" he asked, his gaze fixed on his work.
"No, Cap. As I stipulated last week…"
"You know you can simply depart, correct?" He looked up without ceasing his work. "I mean to say, this is not a penitentiary."
I took a deliberate, calming breath, actively suppressing the intrusive sarcasm before reciting my lines for the eighth time.
"Cap, we have established this. The boys and I are departing for a few hours to meet my uncle. We have even pledged to procure acceptable foodstuffs on our return."
"...Obviously, yes, you may go," he conceded with his signature stoicism.
He had granted us permission for the seventh time this week, but that was not the purpose of my visit.
"Captain, you summoned me here. Do you recall?"
He paused for a few seconds, his brows knitting into his signature furrowed expression. I could practically visualize his brain cells mobilizing.
"...Yes. There was a report I thought might pique your interest." He extended a piece of paper.
The report detailed incidents near the town of Tupyi.
Residents had been vanishing at a steady rate since the onset of summer—no trace, no remains, nothing save for a scattering of unidentified feathers.
"Gryphons do not hunt with this frequency... What is this?" I flipped the page, speaking the question to myself.
The Captain knew my habits and permitted me to continue my internal assessment of the mystery creature.
The reports also cited several earshot witnesses who claimed to have heard a woman's voice when no human was present.
"An Alkonost?" I asked, a clear confusion in my voice.
"That was our initial assessment as well... and if the report proves accurate..."
He baited me with a small smile.
"She is worth an absolute king's ransom," I concluded for him.
Our primary directive was, indeed, the protection of the public from Magical Beasts, but the term 'Oddities' was appended to our name for a reason.
You see, magical beasts—of virtually any kind—possess inherent value, but most intelligent entities are protected by strict legislation. To violate those laws, typically by slaying the creature, carried the most severe of penalties: death.
Yet, that entire moral and legal landscape shifts if the monster poses a direct and demonstrable threat to the non-magical populace and their settlements surrounding the Carpathians.
The system was notoriously convoluted, riddled with legal loopholes, but the path became crystalline if, and only if, indiscriminate killing was involved.
As in this case: if we successfully hunt her down, her components can be resold to the government for a mountain of gold, which they, in turn, utilize for potions, elixirs, poisons. Her body, flesh, bones, and even her blood—they are all invaluable commodities.
"Do we have authorization to hunt it?"
He retrieved the paper.
"Not yet, but with five victims already, authorization should be swift, even for those inept bureaucratic entities." He gave me a sharp wink.
Excellent.
I acknowledged that we would require at least two dozen Border Control agents to execute the hunt, but it would be a payday of unprecedented scale.
Provided, of course, they included us.
En route to the portals, I began planning the expenditure of my hypothetical fortune. If only one of us were to be successful...
The boys had been dispatched to collect the requests and corresponding funds for the supplies our comrades wanted from the city.
"...We've compiled a list for roughly two dozen, primarily those we actually tolerate," Pelit said, waving the list.
"What did Captain Roche want?" Rimel asked.
"Come," I checked the time. "Let us hear the old man out; I will narrate the details on the way."
---
The magical metropolis, the cathedral town of Piatra Neamț, was the designated meeting point.
Coincidentally, it was also the town nearest to The Taj.
Appropriate safety protocols were strictly enforced here, making magical attacks against its citizens a rarity. It was also the only nearby settlement where the troops could find some semblance of entertainment during their time away from duty.
Two years prior, I had met my uncle at a quaint coffee shop near the central square, so I was not surprised he had chosen the same location for our convocation.
Naturally, we made our way there, intending to secure a good table and order something delicious…
Except the cozy little café, filled with its tender and semi-tender memories, was gone. In its place stood an uninspired, garish souvenir shop.
"When did this transformation occur?" Rimel asked.
We had been here only two months prior, and the café was entirely intact. Now, there was not even a vestige of its existence.
"Let us examine it," I said, defeated, and took the lead.
We opened the door. Mercifully, it produced that awful sound, electronically tallying its customers.
I understood the necessity for such mechanisms in non-magical establishments to deter petty thieves, but a simple anti-theft spell would obviate the need for this jarring sound.
The interior had been extensively remodeled; it was all cutesy and aggressively floral.
The souvenirs themselves ranged from mildly disappointing to unequivocally useless.
I suppose they were a source of great amusement for the non-magical populace.
For instance: the standard keychain with your name on it, though unless your name was Ferith, you could expect this one to contain a sentient, ethereal entity that would shriek whatever hypothetical thought crossed its mind.
Or the replicas of certain monsters and mythical creatures that occasionally emitted what I can only describe as flatulent noises and exhibited lazy attempts to mimic their real-life counterparts.
As I said, it was all perfectly amusing, provided you were comfortable flushing your hard-earned money down a proverbial toilet.
"Who would open an establishment of this caliber?" I wondered aloud.
"No one, from the look of things," Pelit leaned over the counter. "Hello! Is anyone present?"
I checked the time. We were precisely on schedule, so I began to watch the outside. I wondered how much he had changed, if at all.
"Welcome, customers."
A rather unsettling individual suddenly materialized in the middle of the shop, startling the three of us. The sounds we made would certainly not indicate that we were badass monster hunters—at least, not always.
The man looked exactly like the type of person who would own a shop of this nature: flamboyant and colorful, with a distinct sprinkle of unearned confidence.
"Hello, good sir. We were merely wondering what transpired with Russo's? The café that occupied this space?"
Pelit stepped forward, asking with polite restraint.
"Oh, that antiquated little place? Gone, I'm afraid. But 'out with the obsolete, and in with the beautiful,' as the saying goes." He flashed a wide, toothy grin.
All three of us literally looked around once more, taking in all this supposed 'beauty.' Mercifully, no one laughed.
"Oh... indeed! Thank you. We will... continue to browse, then."
I took the confused Pelit and guided him toward the window, only to realize there was nothing to observe.
"...Perhaps we should simply depart."
I confirmed this sentiment with the others, and without a backward glance, we slipped out the door, followed by that mocking clang as if to ridicule me.
"Do come again," he called after us.
We took one last look at the shop and collectively cringed.
"Perhaps he was delayed by something else?" Pelit asked, checking the time.
"A sound theory, brother, but after such a long period of silence, I doubt he would set his nephew up in such a clumsy manner."
You don't know the man, Rimel.
We walked around, checking whether any other establishment we were accustomed to had been demolished to make way for a cat-toy shop or some other equally ridiculous venture.
"You are right... kidnapped?" Pelit suggested.
"He is one of the most powerful of the Twelve. Highly doubtful."
I remained silent, as was my habit, and let them deliberate.
"Perhaps that girl and her warning are somehow linked to his tardiness?"
"She advised against trusting what he says. He needs to appear for that to happen."
We walked past a monument erected after a war that had concluded many years ago.
It showcased an inspiring, hopeful stone statue of the brave men who supposedly chose to fight... except they never did.
The town of Piatra Neamț was far removed from the main theatre of the conflict. The inhabitants were nervous, fearful of an attack... but it never materialized.
This monument was likely financed by the very men depicted upon it.
"Why would they name this the Monument of Perseverance?... How, precisely, did these men persevere?"
They didn't answer immediately; that alone was the dead giveaway that something was amiss.
Turning around, I saw my friends in the middle of a frozen argument—immobilized mid-motion would be a more accurate description.
I immediately layered multiple shields around my body. Only after that familiar 'clicking' sensation—like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into place—did I assess the scene.
Frozen, alright. Frozen in an instant. They would make an excellent tableau for a horror film.
Not just my friends, but everyone around me was suspended in time.
I closed my eyes and extended my senses.
"Venturo."
( WHIP )
I had felt and heard that specific spell before, so I had no need to react further.
Not because of the multiple shields surrounding me, but because I recognized the magical signature behind it.
"Uncle Marcus. Theatrical as ever." I raised my hand, catching a few descending flakes.
My field of vision was suddenly filled with white; it was snowing. Yet, I could pick out that particular stride from anywhere. His laughter echoed through the haunted square he had just created.
"Memories are precious things... Hello, Ferith."